


The Easiest Difficulty

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Series: Freedom AU [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 03:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15765285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: It was a simple choice, for both of them. The simplest choice. Or really, it should have been.





	The Easiest Difficulty

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [La más simple dificultad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026989) by [SherryOw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherryOw/pseuds/SherryOw)



> In the same AU as [Long Time, No See](http://fishfingersandjellybabies.tumblr.com/post/163721790467/long-time-no-see-fic) (where Damian left vigilantism completely). This takes place over a few years, though is not every instance they share on the topic/life stresses (ie Jon’s doubts on being a hero etc) and by the end, Damian is 27/28 and Jon is 24/25. Sorry if this is weird/has plotholes. I just wanted some jondami fluff and shit. They both date other people but obviously not seriously. This is one of those 5x1 fics, but I’m bad at that format so not really haha.

There were signs. Signs he chose to ignore but, in hindsight, probably should have used to escape instead. The girls at the front desk squealing with delight and chattering loudly. The office animals barking and meowing in greeting. Even Zooki, the cat he brought to the office with him every day, sat up, sniffed the air, and started purring.

Yeah, he shouldn’t have ignored those signs.

“Uh, D?” He glanced up towards the receptionist sticking her head in the door. Her smile was too bright, too excited. “You have a visitor.”

“Adopter?”

“Personal.”

“Let them in, I suppose.” He sighed, dropping his pen and leaning back in his chair. His family knows better than to bother him at work. And if they absolutely feel the need to, to call first. No surprise visits.

The receptionist nodded and disappeared, only to be replaced a moment later by a dark-haired man in dirty jeans and an ugly flannel shirt.

Damian’s frown deepened. And he couldn’t help but feel betrayed when his beloved Zooki rose from her perch to go greet their guest.

“…Jonathan.” He grumbled as he fixed his glasses, standing anyway.

“Hi.” Jon grinned, and suddenly produced a bouquet from behind his back. Roses of all different colors. “Happy Valentines Day.”

Ah. Now he understood why the front office was so giddy.

Still, Damian couldn’t help but smirk as he approached, and accepted the flowers. Zooki purred from between their feet.

“Cheater.” Damian mumbled, his nose dipped in the petals. “You can’t box me in with a romantic holiday.”

“I’m not trying to box you in.” Jon denied. “I’m just trying to ask you on a date.”

“And I gave you my stipulations.” Damian glanced up, keeping his face in the flowers. “Have you met them?”

Jon glanced down.

“…Jon?”

“Can’t you just like, put those off for now? For _one_ date?” Jon mumbled, shuffling his foot. “Just so I can treat you for a few hours, for _once_?”

Damian sighed, and opened his mouth to respond, but Jon kept rambling.

“I mean, what if it goes horribly? What if it turns out our clearly _mutual_ crushing was all for naught because we’re both terrible people and so we’ll never go out again? Then your _stipulations_ won’t even be necessary!”

“Or, we could fall head over heels in love and be unable to live without each other. Then my stipulations would be _very_ important.” Damian countered. “Trust me – I _don’t_ like saying no to you like this. But it’s important to me, so I’d hope it’d mean something to you too.”

A pause.

“…So?”

“No.” Jon exhaled. “I haven’t met your stipulations.”

Damian clicked his tongue, and finally removed his face from the flowers. “Thank you for the gift, Jon. I truly do appreciate it.”

“…Can we at least get lunch while I’m here?”

Damian shook his head, turning away and returning to his chair. “I’m swamped with paperwork. Not to mention I need to start preparations for this weekend’s adoption event.”

“…Okay, no problem.” Jon gave him a smile, but Damian didn’t look at it, knowing it would be sad. “Call me when you’re free?”

“Only if you promise to call me _if_ you are.” Damian returned. Jon gave a bitter laugh and turned away.

~~

Damian pulled at his bowtie. He hated these things. Hated the monkey suits, hated the guests. Hated how fake it made his family, and even himself.

He also hated the inevitable kerfuffle when a bad guy tried to crash the party.

And this night was no different. The only thing that was maybe a little strange was that he’d had enough champagne not to care all that much when a gun was shoved in his face, or when he was shoved into a chair next to Tim and threatened.

Hell, he and Tim even toasted, clinking their glasses together and gulping their drinks down as the criminals screamed for Bruce to pay for their lives.

It’d been a crummy week at Wayne Enterprises. A crummy week at the animal shelter. They were allowed to have this.

The plus side of getting out of the hero life – he could sit back and relax, not waste much energy attempting to save himself. And his brother was probably too tired at this point to even try. Finishing the booze in his hand was much more important than his life at this point.

Besides – they knew they didn’t have to try tonight anyway. Their Super counterparts were watching for this exact moment, and it wasn’t long before the ballroom was being invaded by red capes, and various poorly designed uniforms.

Honestly, a leather jacket? A hoodie? A _skirt_? And Clark’s was just ugly, no matter how many times he _tweaked_ it.

Regardless of their aesthetics, they were good at their jobs, and quick. There was still champagne in Damian’s own glass when he felt Jon’s arms wrap protectively around him, and whisk him away to safety on a nearby roof.

“You’re safe now, Mr. Wayne.” Jon drawled, watching as his family landed around the city with the rest of Damian’s family.

“Oh, gee.” Damian returned, just as sarcastically, downing the rest of his drink. He saw one of his would-be captors try to escape through a balcony door, and threw the empty glass at him with a well-aimed shot, shattering it along his temple. “How could I _ever_ repay you?”

Jon laughed. “Well, you know, a kiss would be nice. That’s what a lot of the middle-aged women we rescue offer. Even to Kara.” He smirked, stepping closer. “And that’s a payment I’ll gladly accept from you.”

Damian stared incredulously up at him. “Sorry, I’m not a middle-aged woman.” He drawled, then gave a smirk of his own. “And I’m more into farmers’ sons anyway.”

“Oh, come _on_ -”

“And _only_ farmers’ sons.” He backed up a step, holding his arms wide while looking around. “And unfortunately, all I see around here are _superheroes_ , so. Guess I’ll keep my kisses to myself.”

“You’re the _worst_.” Jon whined with an annoyed chuckle.

“From where I’m standing?” Damian said softly. He glanced over the building, watched the cop cars start to arrive. He turned back just to watch Jon take to the sky. “That title is _yours_.”

~~

“I can’t believe it.” The old man said. One Mr. Sanchez, a twenty-four-year veteran of the Wayne Enterprises board of trustees. Damian was here with him because of the almost-kidnapping event at the gala a few months prior – his father was having a press conference today to talk about security, his family’s safety and how they’re coping, blah blah blah. The usual. Anyway, in Damian’s completely objective opinion - Sanchez’s mind was starting to go. “I can’t believe I know someone who has a superhero _interested_ in him.”

Tim snorted into his water down the table.

“Trust me.” Damian sighed, keeping his voice even. He glanced fiercely at his brother. “It’s not all that uncommon.”

“I suppose.” Sanchez said. “But still! It must be exciting! Especially because it was a _Super_ , no less!”

“There is nothing between the youngest Super-whatever and myself.” Damian droned boredly. “Regardless of what you and the idiot public think you see in that picture.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne. This kind of chemistry is impossible to fake.” Sanchez said, holding up the newspaper in question. Above the fold, splashed across the page – Jon and Damian talking on the roof after Jon had rescued him from that party. Because, of course there weren’t any better or more _relevant_ photographs of the event, right? “And in any case, it’s quite clear that Superboy is very smitten with _you_ , regardless of what you claim. There are rumours about him, and even his heroics. The biggest one being he is only ever seen in Gotham on the rare occasion _you_ are in town.”

“For one, he doesn’t go by _Boy_ anymore, the whole world knows that. For two, I will tell you the same thing I told the reporter who emailed me about this drivel of an article.” Damian sighed, watching Dick come over to Tim, who was having a silent laughing fit behind his hand. He clearly asked Tim what was so funny, and Tim openly told him. Dick’s eyes shone in amusement as he looked up at Damian himself. Damian hated him. “I have _no_ interest in my rescuer whatsoever, nor any superhero otherwise. Whom I’m romantically interested in is none of the public’s business, and I’d appreciate the courtesy of privacy.”

“Fair enough. You are a private citizen and wish to remain so. That’s why you left the limelight of Wayne Enterprises, I know, I know.” Sanchez waved off. “But, may I ask?”

Damian glanced at him.

“Why no superheroes?” Sanchez asked. “What turns you off to them? Even my mother said she’d leave her husband of fifty-seven years for the likes of Batman or Black Canary.”

“Because that’s not a world I want to be a part of. I had enough of all that Batman and Robin stuff growing up here. That’s part of why I left Gotham. Superheroes are nothing but trouble.” Damian explained. Then quieter, mumbled, “And what if they go out and don’t come home? What if they die in the field? Just because they’re heroes doesn’t mean they’re immortal. Doesn’t mean they can’t come back hurt and broken. And would you like to see that happen to someone you claim to love on a potentially daily basis?”

Sanchez didn’t answer that. He quickly dropped his gaze to the floor.

“And I, for one, have had enough loss and trauma in my life. So I’ll take a hard pass on a traumatic love life too, thank you.” Damian concluded. He let there be a pause of silence, then hummed, shaking his head as turned to the door to leave. “No, I’ll take the likes of…I don’t know, a poor farmer from Kansas over a superhero any day.”

~~

The only warning he got was all of his animals twitching their ears and turning towards the front door at the same time.

He glanced up from his papers as he came out of his office. “Wha-”

And that was all he could say before the door flew open, practically knocked off its hinges, and he was thrown back against the stairs by the weight of a body stumbling forward and falling on top of him.

“What…” Damian blinked, watching the papers he’d been holding float around them like giant snowflakes. His focus was slow in his surprise, but eventually his vision evened out, and he recognized the body on top of him as none other than: “Jon?!”

Jon grinned, sloppy and giddy. His eyes were blurry and his cheeks were red. He was in his farm work clothes – an old t-shirt, holey jeans and muddy boots.

“…Hi.” Jon hummed, making no move to get off of him. In fact, he did the complete opposite. Seemed to settle his weight against Damian as he reached up and gently ran his fingers over Damian’s face, along the arm of his blue glasses, glossy eyes darting across his features. “…You know, you look _way_ better in glasses than I ever did.”

“…Jon?” Damian whispered, feeling his own face heat up, just a little. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” Jon nodded awkwardly. “You know, Pop won’t let me grow peaches. I think it’s ‘cause we don’t live in Georgia.”

“What? What are you talking about?” And no sooner was the question out of his mouth, the stench hit his nose. The smell of smoke, of greasy food, of too much beer. “Jon, are you-”

Jon’s eyelids fluttered, and he sighed happily as he pulled Damian’s glasses away from his face, in what he probably thought was a seductive move.

…Oh god, he was drunk.

“ _Jonathan_.” Damian scolded.

“You’re pretty.” Jon countered, closing his eyes as he swayed back and forth a little bit. “Did you know that?”

“Jon, how much did you have to drink tonight?” Damian demanded. He put his hands on Jon’s chest, not so much to push him off, just to steady them both against the sharp corners of the steps. He glanced out the destroyed front door, and frowned. “Oh my god, Jon, did you _fly_ here?!”

“I’ll fly to the moon.” Jon slurred, leaning in to brush his nose against Damian’s skin. And as much as he didn’t want it to, Damian felt his heart hammer in his chest, as Jon fell into a ridiculous rendition of Frank Sinatra _. “Come fly with me, come fly, oh, let’s fly away…”_

“Jon.” Damian tried. “Come on, you need to sleep this off.”

Jon didn’t break his song, just pressed his lips to Damian’s jaw, fingers curling into his hair.

“Who were you out drinking with? Do they know you’re here?” Damian pushed, but even he knew in his soul it was half-hearted. “I’ll need to call your parents…”

Jon stopped singing then, and just turned the tune into a hum as he brought his other hand up to hold Damian’s cheek. He opened his eyes now, and stared at him in a hazy bliss.

Damian gulped, and hated himself when he felt his fingers twitch tighter into Jon’s shirt.

“Jon…”

And Jon kissed him.

And Damian should have pushed him off. Jon was drunk, his stairs were digging into his back, the animals were making a racket and probably escaping, and his _stipulations_ –

But god, Jon tasted so _good_.

So he indulged. Felt guilt and shame running all through his system, but goddamn, he indulged. Just for a second. For a few seconds.

Because of course, this was all he wanted. All he’d _ever_ wanted. All Jon ever wanted too. And it’d be so _easy_ …

But no. Because he was out. He was out and he _refused_ to be dragged back in, or involved in any way past what his family forced him to be.

Even for his potential – total, _absolute_ – soul mate.

So, sadly, when Jon pulled back for air, Damian turned his face away before Jon could dive back in. Put his hand against Jon’s mouth, and pushed him back as gently as he could.

“You’re drunk.” He sighed. Jon gave a little whine behind his fingers, but moved back as Damian sat up. “Come on, Jon. Let’s get you into the guest room.”

Jon outright groaned as Damian stood and pulled him to his feet by his hands, grabbed his glasses from where Jon had tossed them, and dragged him carefully up the stairs, into – what he believed was – the wrong bedroom.

~~

“Just like old times.” Jon smirked, throwing blankets towards the bed. Damian snatched them out of the air, rolling his eyes. “All those old sleepovers we had, like when our dads were working cases and stuff.”

He grabbed a few pillows from the shelf, then stepped over to Damian, very obviously standing purposefully in his personal space. Damian kept his scowl.

“I won’t make you sleep on the floor this time, though.”

“I’m not taking your bed, Jon. We’re adults, I can survive a few nights on the floor.” Damian mumbled. “Though frankly, the sooner this case of Grayson’s is over, the happier I’ll be.”

“Well, of course I agree. The sooner Dick and Dad find whoever’s threatening you and _your_ dad, the happier I’ll be too.” Jon snorted. “And no, you’re not _taking_ my bed. We’re sharing.”

Damian felt heat in his face. “Jon…”

“The bed’s big enough.” Jon grinned. “And like you just said – we’re adults, Damian. It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but _I_ won’t have a problem.” Damian spun away from him, unfolding the blankets and laying them out. “If there’s anything to worry about, it’s you and your…your _crush_.”

It was mean, borderline cruel. But it was the only way he could protect himself too.

Jon just laughed, though, and as soon as Damian had the blankets settled, flopped onto the bed.

“You _wish_ it was just a crush.” He giggled. Damian let his frown deepen.

“No, I wish you would move on.” Damian scolded. He began to set up the pillows, began debating putting one between them as a barrier – just in case. “I wish you’d let yourself be happy instead of chasing lost causes.”

“I am happy. And I’m not chasing a lost cause.” Jon countered. “Even if we’re not _together_ -together like we – _I_ – may want to be, you’re still my best friend. You still make me happy.”

Damian pursed his lips, and kept his gaze on his task.

“Hey.” Jon suddenly took hold of his wrist, squeezing gently. “Don’t feel guilty about it, okay? I get it. I _totally_ get it. You’re not being selfish, or greedy or anything. You got out, Damian. You got out of the mask, you have a life, you’re happy and safe and stable. You’re taking care of _yourself_. And you deserve that.”

“…I’m sorry I can’t be like your mother.” Damian murmured, still refusing to look. “I’m sorry I can’t…toe that line like she does. Or be able to have two completely separate lives like Grayson or Drake do.”

“Don’t apologize.” Jon repeated. “I’m glad you don’t. That means I don’t have to worry about you being out there getting hurt. Times like right now excluded, anyway.”

Damian closed his eyes. Jon gave his wrist another squeeze.

“And you’re not hurting me with your choice either.” He whispered. “I understand the ultimatum, I do. And I respect that.” He paused, and Damian felt him look out the window. “You don’t owe me anything, Damian. You don’t owe _anyone_ anything. Not me, not your family, not the world. You always tell me to take care of myself; maybe you should listen to your own advice.”

“Love is about compromise.” Damian countered softly. “And I haven’t made any.”

“Neither have I.” Jon agreed. “In fact, if anything I should be apologizing to you. You gave me a simple choice, and I keep making the wrong one every day.”

“No you don’t.” Damian shook his head, opened his eyes, glanced at the other. “The world needs a Superman.”

“Yeah, and it has like four or five, even without me.” Jon laughed. “Honestly, I’m totally expendable. Which probably makes what I’m doing to you even worse.”

“You are _not_ …!” Damian almost shouted. He stopped himself, though, and instead just pulled his hand from Jon’s. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m tired.”

“Same.” Jon allowed. He patted the bed next to him. Damian silently crawled in next to him, lying as close to the wall as he could. He waited a moment, knew Jon was watching him, then decided to put that pillow between them.

Jon snorted when he did so, and immediately tossed it to the floor. He scooted closer, hooking his chin over Damian’s head as he flopped his arm loosely around his waist.

“You’re here so I can protect you, remember.” He mumbled, like it was actually a valid explanation. Damian sighed, but didn’t shove him off. Didn’t make any move to return any affections, either. They laid in the silence for a moment, listening to the bugs chirp into the Kansas night. “…You’re always going to wait for me, aren’t you.”

“Always.” Damian promised quietly. “Unfortunately.” He added bitterly after. Another second, then: “And I guess I don’t have to ask you the same.”

Jon didn’t answer. Damian fell asleep.

~~

He was just finishing watering the plants on his back porch when the sun began to rise over the tree line. He’d found he enjoyed gardening in his new life, specifically early morning or late night gardening. When the neighborhood children were asleep or inside, and cars weren’t coming and going. When there was utter silence and peacefulness. Just him and his thoughts, and sometimes, if they were awake themselves, his animals.

The water in the can ran out, and he placed it on the porch railing next to his pot of blooming zinnias. He gave a contented sigh as he reached for his mug of steaming coffee, holding it in both hands as he took a long sip, and paused to watch the sky light up in deep oranges and pinks.

Then – his house gave a slight shake, and he could hear things inside falling off shelves.

He turned back towards the house, setting his coffee back on the table as the animals inside began to stir and bark in alarm. When he got in, he watched his pets all rush to the front window, staring anxiously at something in the front yard. Damian frowned and followed the mob, but instead of looking out the window, he moved to the front door and opened it, facing whatever threat it might have been head on, like he always had.

But it was no threat.

Standing in the center of a small crater localized to his front yard, stood a man in a red and blue hooded sweatshirt, torn, dirty and open, exposing a bloody and disgusting white shirt underneath. His ripped jeans had even more holes in it, and he was missing his shoes.

Next to him was a duffle bag.

“…Jon?” Damian called carefully, stepping outside and closing the door before any of the dogs could follow. Jon glanced up at him with tired, sad, hollow eyes. “Jon, are you alright?”

“You were right.” Jon croaked as Damian approached him. “You were _always_ right.”

“About what?” Damian reached up, and gently ran his thumb over the giant bruise on Jon’s face. “God, Jon – what happened?!”

“I should have listened to you years ago. I should have agreed to your stipulations. Then we could have been happy and safe and a _family_ and…”

“Jonathan.” Damian tried again, dropping his hand to Jon’s chest. He could feel the blood still seeping, feeling injuries that Jon absolutely _should not have_. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want it.” Tears welled up in Jon’s eyes. Overflowed immediately. “Damian, I don’t want to be Superman.”

Damian’s eyes widened, and he felt his heart maybe stop.

“I lost. _Again_. People died today, and it was my fault, Damian. I wasn’t good enough. My powers shorted out. I was…I was only a fucking _human_.” Jon wailed. “I don’t want it to happen again. I…I _can’t_ let it happen again. But it was…I…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m so tired, Damian. I don’t know how Dad does it. I…”

He swayed on his feet a little bit, and Damian immediately reached out for his arms. His tears twinkled in the rising sun.

“I can’t be Superman. I don’t want to be. You were right. You were always right. I should have gotten out when you did. I should have given up this stupid symbol and helped people on the ground, like you do.” Jon repeated. His lip trembled. _“I don’t want to be Superman, Damian.”_

“Then don’t be.” Damian whispered.

“I just…I want…” He let out a tiny sob. “I don’t even want to be the _Son of Superman_ anymore. I just…” Another louder cry. “I just want to be Jon.”

And Damian couldn’t help but smile, as he gently began to push that sweatshirt from Jon’s shoulders. “You _are_.”

“I just…” Jon repeated. He suddenly glanced down at his bag. Damian did too, saw the zipper wasn’t completely closed. Inside, he could see clothes and books and pictures. Jon’s whole life, more or less. He looked back up at Jon, and Jon was staring desperately at him. He was serious about this. “I just want to be _yours_.”

Damian couldn’t help but grin even wider. There was no more Superboy. There was no more budding Superman. There were no more nights laying up in worry that he would die, that they’d be separated forever. No more days feeling guilty or selfish, because he was making him choose. No more ultimatum between him and the cape.

There was just his love. There was just his soul mate, Jonathan Samuel Kent.

“Beloved, you always have been.” Damian breathed, bringing his hands up to carefully hold Jon’s face, and kiss him as sweetly as he could. As sweetly as he’d always wanted to.

Jon all but collapsed into his arms, clinging as tightly as he could, and Damian relished in the feeling. Even when their lips broke apart, Damian didn’t let him go. Kept a protective arm around his waist as he leaned down and picked up his bag for him.

He kicked the ruined hoodie into the dirt of his front garden, making a mental note to gleefully burn the thing later. (With Jon’s permission, of course.)

“I’ll need to find a job.” Jon murmured. “And I…I don’t know how to cook. Or understand banking accounts. And I’ll pay rent, and I’ll…”

“Shhh.” Damian breathed. “Later, Jonathan. One thing at a time.”

When they attempted to step forward, Jon immediately stumbled, and half collapsed further into Damian’s side. Jon couldn’t walk, his leg was clearly too injured. And that was fine. Damian merely flipped Jon’s bag over his shoulder, and slip his arm under Jon’s knees. Jon immediately curled into his chest, arms around his neck.

“May I show you to our bedroom?” Damian asked gently, as Jon desperately dug his nails in Damian’s back. “You look like you could use a nice long nap.”

And finally, he caught a smile on Jon’s lips, and relief in his voice. “Yes, please.”

Damian carried him to the door, balancing on one leg to kick open the knob, then walked across the threshold with him. The animals all began sniffing at the new arrival, but Damian paid them no mind, immediately moving towards the stairs, towards the bedroom.

 _Their_ bedroom.

“Welcome home, Jon.” Damian whispered into his hair.

Jon, still crying, let out a tiny laugh. “I’m so happy to finally be here, Damian.”


End file.
